Star Trek : The Age Of Kirk
by Gojirob
Summary: His time comes, goes, and then comes again--and again. The captain and the people he leads and inspires in a series of short pieces. Includes some ST-2009 pieces. Separate from the Ancient Destroyer AU.
1. The Other Side Of Paradise

**The Other Side of Paradise**  
by Rob Morris

As Lt. Uhura put her station back together, she once again felt the eyes of the Captain upon her-or, more accurately, upon her work. It was quite disturbing. She finally spoke up.

"Captain, I appreciate you wanting to learn about how my board works, really. But I feel as though you're judging my function here, even though I know better."

Kirk's features became soft, and he spoke in a syrupy voice similar to the one Uhura herself used when under the influence of the Omicron Ceti 3 spores. It was that influence that caused her to sabotage her board, which now needed repair.

"But--Uhura--I just want to learn all about the ships' systems. You'll come to understand that--in time."

As he left for Engineering, Uhura heard Kirk's words run right down her spine.

"I have to concede, that was a really annoying voice I used. Yeesh!"

In Engineering, Kirk walked up to crewmen Riley, Kyle, and Taylor.

"Gentlemen. When your shifts are done, help coordinate the colonists from Omicron Ceti 3 with their volunteer chores."

Kyle looked somewhat taken aback.

"But, sir, that's an awful lot of extra work."

Kirk's face grew blank, imitating the faces in the line to the transporter room after the spores infected the crew.

"Well, yes, Mister, I guess that is mutin-I mean an awful lot of extra work, isn't it?"

Kirk left, and the three talked.

"He's ticked."

"Oh, Yeah!"

"He's scary."

Called to McCoy's office, Captain Kirk sat down, and let his old friend speak.

"Jim, I've been getting complaints from all over the ship. Now, mutiny is an irritant, and I know how we all acted under the spores' influence. But I'm suggesting you take a few days off, to calm down a bit. Otherwise, I may be forced to temporarily relieve you of Command."

Kirk looked at his CMO, and smiled a friendly smile. When he spoke, it was in a savagely bad imitation of the Southern accent McCoy sometimes sported.

"Now, Doctor! Why would a fine Country Gentleman Like Yourself want to go and do a thing like that to me for? I declare!"

Bones' voice grew weak. Jim really was scary right then.

"Sor-sorry, Captain. Se-see you later!"

As Jim left, Spock emerged from his observation point.

"You see what I mean, Spock? He's scaring the whole ship. Don't tell me he doesn't frighten you."

Spock shrugged.

"No, Doctor, he does not. After all, The Captain has already punched me."


	2. A Quiet Corner AU

**A Quiet Corner of Montana**  
by Rob Morris

At last, the anachronistic man found the escape pod-and destroyed it. Given the all-clear, Kirk, Spock, and Scotty were right behind him. The man liked Scotty-he didn't gush-unlike some Chief Engineers he knew.

"Is it truly gone, Zephram?"

"Yeah, Monty. It's all gone. Got any Scotch?"

His new friend's moustache turned downward.

"Now what kind of fool question is that?"  
Scotty pulled out two foldaway glasses and a green-tinted container.

"Well, gentlemen, I see that the crisis-within-a-crisis has passed, and it's time to celebrate."

Cochrane smiled.

"Jim! Spock! Come sit!"

"The Captain may join you, Doctor Cochrane. But I would much prefer to find out that the alien technology has been destroyed."

While Kirk sat and drank, his mind raced back a week to the near nuclear annihilation of the Earth, only a week back. They were all close missions, but nostalgia made this one feel even closer.

"I am of a superior species unknown to you. Hidden among you these 200 years, I have waited for your technology to reach a useable status. That time has come. My own tech has degraded, but your high-yield transceivers will call my people and complete our absorption of you. Give me one, or the ancient nuclear stockpiles scattered all over your world will detonate, as one bomb."

The pile of corpses, going back 200 years, was a disturbing discovery. The alien tech had used and discarded them like clothing. Zen philosophies aside, Kirk found that concept distinctly unappealing.

In the end, the creature's threat was averted in the simplest manner possible. Its tech was so degraded and diluted, that when the Enterprise reflected its own signal back to it, it shut down, feeling its mission complete. But humans had learned yet one more lesson, and the ancient nuclear weapons were finally located and removed--cost be damned.

Then, clean-up became complicated. Massive chronoton particle contamination of the site meant the worst was true-the damned necromotive thing was from the future, and had contaminated the past, or tried to. After Spock had nailed down late 2063 as the origin point, Kirk played a hunch and surreptitiously asked Starfleet to allow him the use of a "Civilian Expert"-Zephram Cochrane.

The Companion had protested, but Cochrane wanted at least a glimpse of his home world, and he also confirmed the long-rumored presence of time-travelers at the Flight Of The Phoenix. So it was that Cochrane could destroy the tech for them, while keeping quiet about both its nature and the nature of those travelers-as he always had. Timeline contamination was thus kept at a minimum.

"I tell you, I feel like a fool. To think, that we never thought to look for it. If those Bo----er, Boys--had gotten here, it would have NOT been good."

"To say the least. Is it really all gone, Spock?"

"All tech in this region is being recycled, Captain. Chronoton particles or no."

"Good. Whatever my reputation on the Physical Prime Directive, I prefer not to violate its Temporal Corollary."

"Unless of course, it's absolutely necessary, Captain. Sorry, sir. Tis' the Scotch talkin' fer me."

"Let it talk, Scotty. If only all our foes could be beaten by your miracle-working, I'd gladly give you my chair--not my old chair, mind you. I just don't like the A's seating."

"Without details, Doctor Cochrane, was this enemy race difficult to defeat for the time travelers?"

"Mister Spock, they were the devil, they are the devil, and they will be the devil."

Kirk was getting a bit tipsy.

"I'd like a crack at bearding that devil."

At that, an arrogant-looking being flashed in, completely out of nowhere.

"Tch, Tsk! Mon Capitan! Time and Space have ears, you know. You should really try to be careful what you wish for!"

In a heartbeat, they were back on the Enterprise. The stars were different. Spock ascertained the situation.

"Captain, we are halfway across our Galaxy---in the Delta Quadrant! Something---is approaching, fast."

**100 years later....**

"And that, Number One, is yet another version of James T. Kirk's first encounter with the Borg."

Will Riker laughed.

"My favorite part where they imprison the Q entity and use him for a power source---only Montgomery Scott would think of that! Sir, how much of that all do you suppose is true?"

"Oh, who can say, Will? We may never know the full story of that Enterprise's 10-year foray in the Delta Quadrant--anymore than we may ever learn the identity of the time travelers present on the day of First Contact."


	3. The Surprise

**Surprise!**  
by Rob Morris

DECEMBER 21, 2272

As he left for the day, Jim placed the evil idea inside Lori's head.

"All I'm saying, honey, is that with your fair skin, you don't want to risk going out in the Bay winds unless you're covered head to toe. What Pavel Chekov would call a babushka. Now, keep covered up, okay?"

Like she was a fragile flower. OK. He was going to see the error of his ways. Literally. With a quick check of various duty assignments, she found out that all of Jim's friends were off-planet, most for the holidays.

"Babushka, Jim? I'll give you a pair of bouncing babushkas!"

The first thing after she got back from a light workday was to do was lock the outer walkway's door. Only she, Jim and Jim's Mom had that key, and more than one visitor would register, giving her time to get away. A sly smile creased her pretty face. It was time to knock her man's socks off.

"Admiral--it's time to get out of uniform."

The outer door registered one, wholly authorized visitor. Life signs were human. No weapons were detected. Lori ditched the light robe, far enough away that she wouldn't chicken out. Hearing a knock, she arched her arms behind her head, her own behind posed to the door.

"Come on in."

When the door opened, she closed her eyes, spun like a pirouette, shook her behind at the entrant, then turned and threw her arms upward, shaking her chest as she went.

"It's the very latest in winter wear, Admiral. What do you think?"

A voice, male but not Jim's, now was heard.

"Aunt Lori?"

Ciana's heart and nervous system nearly caused her death a month early. She stood there, frozen, choosing not to open her eyes, while acknowledging her 12-year old visitor in a weak, faltering voice.

"Hello, Peter."


	4. Coral

A follow-up to 'The Doomsday Machine.' Charged with an ugly duty, Captain Kirk writes to a former love about how a memory of beauty made it all right.

------------------

* * *

Coral

by Rob Morris

Dear Carol:

I sent this message to your private account in hopes that this would bypass any and all concerns you might have that this was about my seeing David. It is about David, but it is not about his custody, upbringing, or knowledge of his parentage.

I'll explain. Your classification is high enough to be told this if you haven't heard already. The silence from Solar Systems L-360 through L-373 is no mere subspace transmission mishap. Carol, they're gone. An ancient weapon--a literal planet-killer--emerged from God only knows where and cut the many inhabited worlds within them to pieces. What sort of enemy was it built to fight? Whether that enemy was an aspect of the Antichrist itself or just another nightmare Brobdingangian machine, it was a sight to behold, and it made us one and all feel irrelevant.

We originally believed that only L-370 to L-373 was affected, but later scans showed that this thing really wanted to replace Death's Scythe in our collective thoughts. I swear that even Spock hesitates when calculating the numbers of dead involved. I'd include some attached  
pictures and stats, but for now that would violate a few dozen emergency protocols, and in this instance they make more sense to me than normal. The best description I can offer is that of an evil cornucopia. When the short-term restrictions are lifted, I'll send you the images, and you will  
understand.

Commodore Matt Decker, his crew and the USS Constellation itself were also casualties of this monster. Matt had beamed his crew to an imagined safety on a world that was soon erased. When we found him, in that shattered hulk that was once a starship---Carol, I almost prayed he would die soon. His son Willard is a teacher at the Academy, last I heard, and I would rather have shown him a corpse than the broken leader so hell-bent on vengeance, he nearly took Enterprise with him. His theft of a shuttlecraft killed him but showed us the way to end that nightmare. The monster was dead, but so was a great man. And he was but one of so very, very many. It was done, and we got the hell out of there.

We were perhaps four days out when Starfleet ordered us to go back. We hadn't made the mess, but it was ours to clean up. Did I mention the damned thing sported a hull of pure neutronium? At a staff meeting, nerves were badly on edge. No one wanted to be near this thing again. Sulu called up his former skills as ship's physicist and just suggested slapping a cloak on it, albeit one that would not work for line-of-sight viewing. Unworkable. Scotty suggested attaching warp engines to the hull of the planet-killer, and just sending it back where it came from. Security risk. Spock and Bones got into it over an idea that had The Federation working with the other powers to find a certain neutralizing method. After Chekov made what I have to call a forgettable suggestion, Uhura reminded us of the urgency of it all. Seems the thing is a hazard to communication, and thereby apt to be noticed sooner than we might like.

Frustrated, I went to sleep that night--and I dreamed of you, Carol. That wonderful night when we didn't realize we had just conceived David. That sweet, pure honeyed moment in time when words like personality or career just didn't matter. Then the dream shifted and I saw you building a path of small rocks leading back to the house we once shared, and at the open door stood David. Together we three gathered all those stones back up, and with them we filled up a yawning hole.

I woke up and knew that a dream is only a dream, and it couldn't change who we are, or why we broke up. But Carol, I thought also of the project you have devoted your life to, and felt I knew how to beat this sword into a great gosh o'mighty tractor.

Getting it in motion was actually simple. A photon torpedo explosion at its tail, a tractor beam creasing its outer mouth-rim, and a reconfigured shuttle, courtesy of Scotty were all it took. As we nudged and prodded a dead and still potentially deadly carcass back along its path of death and destruction, a scan from Spock said we had done it. The natural gravity well of the maw took in the fragments of the many shattered worlds, which we in turn compacted back further in the hole till the device was full of much of its own handiwork. And that wasn't all.

The new mass inside the already massive machine hyper-accentuated its gravimetric attraction to the remaining fragments for systems around. Some fragments were already striking with such force they were fusing the fragments together. Carol, we've birthed a new giant world that one  
day might even know life. Like the environmentally nightmarish ship wrecks that later became life-giving coral reefs, this 'Doomsday Machine' is being made to give back some of what it took from the universe. A simple effort to fill the cannon barrel with cement has become the seeding of that same barrel with flowers. Flowers not placed in the gun barrel by an idealistic pacifistic teen opposing a war, but sprung up by divine edict in response to creation's violation by yet  
another would-be ultimate weapon.

I know it won't be with me, Carol, but I hope you and David one day see it. And I hope that when you do, you also remember the other time we made life together.

Love always,

Jim


	5. I Have A Cousin

**I Have a Cousin**  
By Rob Morris

PRIVATE JOURNAL, DOCTOR DAVID MARCUS, ONE WEEK BEFORE BOARDING USS GRISSOM

I have a cousin.

Jim--Dad--was just talking, and then said to me something about salt-water fishing with someone named Peter. I asked the obvious question. That's when it hit me.

It's a pretty simple thing, really. Everyone has cousins, though not first cousins. He's a scientist, heavy into exobiology, in his late 20's, with a chip on his shoulder--sometimes. He even won a prize for a multi-disciplinary thesis speculating on the origins of the various shapeshifters seen here and there, in science and legend. Is that eerie enough?

But who he is, what he does, or what kind of person this guy is just strikes me as totally irrelevant. He could be a gardener at The Academy. He could be a super-hero. He could be the next great Captain, like Dad. He could secretly be Jim's son, or have suffered a psychotic episode, and have been put away in Tantalus. He could have been a she. And none of that matters, in and of itself. The fact is--I have a cousin.

My cousin had two older brothers, before they changed their names to avoid various forms of harassment. My cousin had a grandmother, who spoiled him till he asserted himself. He had--my grandmother. Those guys who changed their names are my other cousins. I had a grandfather that no one talks about in his own family. This Peter might have been able to explain why, or at least make it more clear to me why George, Senior, is so hush-hush. He might still, but it should have been old news to me by now.

My cousin lived with my grandmother on a farm that I could have visited. My cousin's girlfriend could have liked me, hated me, or introduced me to her cousin.

Mom didn't want me flying off into space with my father. My cousin could have told her that, from ages 7-15, his petitions to live aboard Enterprise were summarily denied--by guess-who? Let's see---I'm 26 now, and would have graduated the Academy about five years ago, had I gone. No rookie nowadays gets Enterprise right off, so...Mom, even under the most ideal of circumstances, I might just now be flying off with Dad. Yes, Fleet life is dangerous. I don't know that I'd ever want it. But as seven dead Deltans could tell you, Nebula One was no safe-house.

Uncle Henry called, a man I hadn't seen since Mom and Jim broke up when I was little. Said that he and his niece--my Mom--had suffered a disagreement, back when, which had just been resolved. Heh. Uncle Hank was known for his bluntness. Did he want you to tell me the truth, Mom? If I really think hard, I can remember lots of talkative relations on your side that we avoided, seemingly for no reason.

Obviously, I want to take her point of view. She's my Mom. But now I wonder how I would feel if an ex-girlfriend told me to go away while having my child. I'm not a bum. Jim sure isn't, else she would never have defended him to me. So why am I just now finding out about this cousin, who is merely the tip of the family iceberg?

I could make so many arguments in her favor, everyone of them wholly valid and unstrained. But in my rising anger, I look at how men who impregnate women and just walk away are rightly considered low-lives, and can't help seeing this situation as a form of inverse. Is this unfair of me? Hell, yes. But this is my first say in this matter. And I will have a say in this matter, even if I have to do the impossible and win over Mom in a shouting match.

So, today, I will arrange to have lunch with my cousin and then dinner with my Mom. Carol Marcus had better pray hard that Peter Kirk comes across to me as a complete and utter asshole.

Because if he doesn't, then Mom? I think I might just win that shouting match, costs be damned.

I have a cousin.


	6. No Apologies

**No Apologies**  
By Rob Morris

Kirk had thought that bringing Rojan, the Kelvin leader, together with the parents of Leslie Thompson, the Yeoman that the Kelvans had killed so horribly, was the definition of the word, *mistake*. But so far things were civil.

Oddly, the Thompsons even had quite a spread made up, some very rich foods. Kirk had surreptitiously had Spock scan and re-transport the food through several filters. While nothing was found, he would be glad when this was over.

While contact was Kirk's job, dealing with a race that had killed one of his crew always required some preparation. But if Kang killed Scotty, for example, it would probably be while each was on a mission, fortunes of war and all that. He wouldn't like it, but the Captain would understand.

Rojan and the other Kelvans, enjoying the strong drink and rich food, though, had killed Leslie Thompson as a show of their power-nothing more. As Lieutenant Shea was restored from the reduced form, Rojan also casually picked up Thompson's cube-like stasis form-and crushed it. After they recovered the ship from the Kelvans, the crew recovered the tetrahedral remains of the lively young woman.

If anyone wanted to make a case for Kirk having ancient attitudes about sexual roles, they could easily do so based on what he felt at that moment she died-the father figure, unable to protect his daughter. The alpha male, seeing a prized female brought low, and the Knight, who did not stop the evil baron in time.

He hadn't loved her. He had barely known her. Sadly, it was only by the manner of her death and the feelings it brought up, that he ever took note of her. He had seen men and women die before. But it had never been quite so casual and so gruesome all at once.

When Rojan was through offering up a rather perfunctory apology, Lesley Thompson, whom his daughter was named for, made a stunning request of Rojan.

"Do you have that device with you?"

"Well, as a gesture of trust, Captain Kirk holds it for us, while we visit with you, sir."

"Restore her."

"Sir, she is quite dead. You see, once we crushed that cubit, a significant part of her body mass was forever...."

"Spare me your explanations. Restore her."

"It won't bring her back, Mr. Thompson."

"I apologize, Rojan. Let me rephrase. Restore my daughter's body-her dead body. Can you do that?"

I-I could, but I won't. The body, while not having suffered decay, would be..."

Kirk was listening to the back-and-forth, and had a grim thought where all this was going. It was not a thought that was entirely unappealing, though.

"Rojan, I'll be frank. There are legal avenues I could pursue, even though my daughter was in Starfleet. Those avenues would hold up your application for a relocation colony-for quite some time. If you do not want that delay, then restore my daughter's body, and let the chips fall where they may."

For his people's sake, Rojan reluctantly nodded yes. He couldn't understand why this simple request made him so ill at ease.

In a coffin, laid in the middle of the living area, was the intact portion plus much of the dust from Yeoman Thompson's body-cube. Kelvans and humans gathered round. Kirk held up the device before Rojan.

"I've signaled Spock aboard the Enterprise. If I don't signal him at the pre-set time thereafter-or if he suspects something is wrong-this house and all in it vanish in a blue flash. Am I understood?"

Rojan nodded, but seemed upset.

"Those times are done, Captain. For now, we are human, as you are."

"Just remember that, Mister!"

Rojan took the device, and aimed it at Yeoman Thompson's remains. Kirk was handed it back when he was done, and for good measure the Captain had it transported back up when he signaled Spock. Then he heard the screaming, and the violent retching. He knew that the Thompsons, both trained pathologists, had seen far worse than their daughter's horribly disfigured but still recognizable corpse, and so for that matter had Kirk. But the Kelvans, still so new to humanity, never had. Suddenly, the strong drink and rich food was no longer inside them. Hanar punched Rojan square in the jaw.

"Why? We couldn't have just threatened her? You bastard! She was beautiful!"

Kelinda was almost foaming at the mouth.

"That could be--meeeeeeee!!!!"

Tomar had fainted outright.

Harriet Thompson turned to Kirk.

"Captain, our beliefs say that the body is just a shell we use so if you would, please destroy the remains."

Since all investigations were done, and the next-of-kin assented, Kirk took his sidearm and did just that. At this sight, the Kelvans began another round of vomiting. They were still convulsing when, one by one, the Thompsons picked them up, and physically threw them out of their home. Lesley Thompson saved the openly sobbing Rojan for last. The others lay on the grass, dizzy and moaning in grief.

"Please, Mr. Thompson! I-am-so-sorrry!!!! We didn't know! We're sorry!"

Rojan bounced, and hit his head on the ground, where he was thrown. Thompson looked on, not smiling, but still looking somewhat triumphant.

"No apologies needed, Rojan. Like anyone else, you were just looking out for your own."

The door slammed shut. 


	7. The Corner

**The Corner**  
by Rob Morris

I am a patriot. I have acted in a patriotic manner to defeat both the enemies of my way of life and those who serve their cause, however unwittingly. The pain of my parents' murder by the Klingons aside, this was the logical thing to do. The Klingons are now weakened, and may be smashed with minimal losses to our side. To avoid exploiting that opportunity would not be logical.

While I am almost certain that Admiral Cartwright personally detests Captain Kirk, he directed that I aid in his rescue. A feeling of common revulsion between us roiled up at the thought of so grand a symbol in Klingon clutches. But aiding in his rescue is one step. Telling him of how to best thwart our efforts is quite entirely another. I shall not do it.

I did not seek to kill either Captains Kirk or Spock for a pair of very simple reasons. The first is that I do respect their many achievements. It is highly illogical not to.

The second is even simpler than the first: The war I have helped to begin will require them both. Once the Klingons put aside all false talk of peace, Captain Kirk's harsh emotions regarding his lost son will surface. Captain Spock informed me in confidence that the brutal murder of Doctor David Marcus has also caused trauma to his ward, a witness to that typical Klingon tactic. Her pain will push him to aid in our victory.

In fact, the Admiral informed me that he had originally thought to use Lt. Cmdr. Saavik in the role that I have undertaken. But her overriding loyalty to Captain Spock aside, any changes in her behavior would be far easier for Captain Spock to discern. In my case, he simply did not yet know me well enough to know, as the humans put it, fair weather from foul.

They stand around me, seething with disgust and contempt. The Security Officer, so easily misdirected. The Comm Officer who could not find messages placed aboard a ship she is supposedly quite familiar with. The Engineer who ripped apart his own ship, looking for the 'malfunction' that fired torpedoes at Gorkon's ship. They disturb me with their pointless glaring. Emotions aside, humans simply take things far too personally.

I must imagine if left to Doctor McCoy's ministrations, I might find my heart and liver transposed without anesthetic. Does he imagine that he is blameless in all this? It was only after he refused to attend a Starfleet Medical conference on Klingon physiology that we absolutely confirmed use of Enterprise as our stalking horse. You, and not I, set this thing in motion, Doctor.

Then there is Captain Kirk, a great man too willing to publicly say what so many of us have in private, regarding Klingons. But he has indicated that he is most resentful of my eavesdropping on the recording of his private journal. In retrospect, that was a mistake. Clearly, and logically, I was the only one who could have easily lifted such a thing, prior to the code-sealing of Captain Kirk's records after his arrest. I must reason that he is as angry at my sloppiness as my intrusion. He may have that right. My error was unforgivable.

They think that Spock's melding holds terror for me. I move away as he attempts it, a bit of sarcastic humor that he but not the humans would understand. But Spock will not harm me, nor will he engage in chest-thumping threats as he moves in my mind. He knows neither will much aid his search. He will move around the corners of my most private existence. But all I need do is erect new and longer corners. He will tire before I do. The logic and the justice of my cause will lend me strength.

"Who, Valeris?"

"I do not know, Spock. Of what do you speak?"

This can continue forever, even past our physical bodies' expiration. Part of Gol is said to be haunted by the katras of interrogators and those who would never break their trust. I am easily as steadfast as any ghost. As he rounds one corner, I construct ten more. This is no war. Merely a game, won by attrition, and nothing more. I have all the advantages. The cards, as my former friends would say, are all in my hand. I feel that I may even enjoy this, till Spock raises the stakes.

He is more talented than even I knew. Now, he rounds five corners for the ten I build, neatly reducing my advantage. I call a halt to things when he is at nine for every ten. In a realm that we both see as the corridors of this ship, he asks again.

"Who, Valeris?"

I call upon an advantage that he cannot negate.

"Captain Spock, your experience is greater than mine. You are the elder of us, as well. I concede your training. But your endurance must eventually fail you. For I am full Vulcan. You---are Human."

Did I say those words with untoward pride? Perhaps, but then, I am indeed a full Vulcan, and he cannot change the fact that he is only half Vulcan. At first, I see no shift in him. His words are simple, and without undue emotion.

"You are wrong to underestimate me."

Which is what almost anyone in his position would say. Quite unremarkable, in and of itself. I begin my game again, increasing the distance between us enough to restore the status quo. Again, I am pleased at my skill and strength. When one considers my childhood, my achievements are noteworthy.

But in our mental realm made up of nanoseconds that run whole days, I begin to hear a second set of footsteps. Has Captain Kirk joined Spock? Surely this will dilute, not aid, their efforts.

After a certain point, Spock does manage to find me, but not take my information. Behind him--is a red shadow.

"Valeris--please aid us. Your wrong is not yet irredeemable."

The red shadow is no accident or artifice. Spock is in complete control of his anger. But in this place, that anger has a life of its own. Briefly, the red shadow brushes me. I feel my physical mouth open wide in shock. I hear words. Taunting, hateful words.

"Earther!"

"Terrans are made out of dirt!"

"Sarek mated with a human sow!"

"Should have been put down in the cave!"

"His crazy brother should have taken him away, too!"

"He can't even do a simple nerve pinch."

"He's not really Terran, and he's not really Vulcan. He's---not real."

At first, I think that my solution is a simple one.

"Spock, my words on our heritage were untoward. I ask forgiveness."

He shrugs, but the red shadow behind him continues to grow.

"I am only half-Vulcan. It is possible that this could place your endurance over mine. In any event, that is not my present concern."

As the thing brushes me again, I see the ancient bullies. One of them feigns well apology and friendship, only to betray and humiliate Spock. There are no words I can offer that can stop his anger from rapidly growing. God Of ShaKaRee, what have I unleashed? I must end this. I believe in my cause, but that red shadow can destroy me without effort, if Spock's control slips but once.

"Who, Valeris?"

"General Chang."

"Who, Valeris?"

"Ambassador Nanclus."

"Who, Valeris?"

"Admiral Cartwright."

"Where, Valeris?"

"I do not know."

"Where, Valeris?"

"I do not know."

Why does he not accept my answer? I have given up all I have, betrayed my beliefs to end my peril. Yet he asks again.

"Where, Valeris?"

In the physical world, my open mouth is now beginning to scream, as surely as I did when the Klingons turned me on my stomach and took me, as a little girl, my parents' spiked heads staring back at me, unable to lend comfort. Why is Spock doing this? He gains nothing.

It is then I realize with horror that Spock has begun to withdraw. Is he leaving his anger inside me? I know my own anger. It has been both bane and boon to me. But this anger seems new--and worse than either of ours. Is it---the unholy child of two abused children?

"Valeris, please---where is the conference being held?"

But I ignore his final plea. I can barely hear him, or feel him as he pulls away at last. Spock never harmed me. His anger only brushed me. But for the briefest of moments, the red shadow we made together consumes all, and I am now screaming well past the top capacity of my lungs. It never claims me, but merely hovers, poised to strike, and it is hideous on so very many different levels.

"She--does not know."

But he is wrong. I do know the anger. Though I wish I did not.

The red shadow never moves in.

But it has me trapped in the corner.


	8. Bunyan, Pecos, Appleseed & Kirk

**Bunyan, Pecos, Appleseed and Kirk**  
by Rob Morris

**ROMULUS, 2369**

Spock was puzzled by the well-intentioned interloper's request. "Did you not condemn him as a cowboy, mere hours ago?"

The wait for Spock's Romulan contact weighed well upon all nerves, save those of the deactivated Data.

Picard shrugged. "It was hardly a condemnation, Mister Ambassador. That way of doing things was vitally needed then, but is greatly less so now. Largely, I might add, because when they were needed, the cowboys made this more genteel world possible. In fact, as I just said, one of my more selfish hopes in coming here was to hear you speak upon those times, perhaps give away some confidence that time now allows for."

Spock was noncommittal. "I am loathe to glory myself, Captain. One and all, we did as we must. As, I am reliably told, do you."

Picard had a look of near-pleading on his face. "If my crew should find out that I spent time in the company of Captain Kirk's good right arm, yet ended up with no stories of JTK, I fear that I shall have to answer for it."

Spock winced. "JTK? Does that then make Saavik's bondmate PCK? Are the Captain's brother, father and oldest nephew, to be known as GSK's One To Three? Was Captain Chekov PAC?"

"Please, Mister Ambassador. When, I ask you, will I have an opportunity such as this again?"

Spock, it was known, could find a way out of any and all situations. "Very well. Hear now the shocking truth about one of my friend Jim's most infamous missions."

* * *

**2269**

Captain Kirk looked out over the assembled crew in the valley beneath him.

"We encountered a slight problem, as you have become aware. Well, actually, several problems. First off, we somehow began beaming the initial survey party, the main landing party, and the personnel to go on shore leave all at once. Then, Mister Kyle, assuming that his already-beamed relief was in fact on his way to relieve him, used the self-timer and beamed down. As a result, we no longer have any personnel aboard the Enterprise."

Wiping the uncharacteristic sweat from his brow, Kirk informed his crew of what was to follow. "Mister Spock, Mister Scott and Lieutenant Uhura assure me that they can set up a series of relays and beam us back within the week, and our orbit was stable enough to not be concerned there. My concern is hearing about this from Starfleet for the next century or so."

Murmurs went up in the crowd. No one wanted to be razzed for this, it seems. Kirk nodded. "But we have an alternative. Mister Chekov, if you would?"

The future successor of James Kirk stepped up and began what would become the crew's wild cover story. "An alien vwoman came aboard Enterprise, rendered us all unconscious, and stole Meester Spock's Brain. Vwe then followed her to a now Prime-Directive-quarantined vworld vhwere men and vwomen, after a planetary disaster, chose to live separately, eventually developing into distinct societies. The vwomen had these odd neural-sapper wrist-devices..."

* * *

When Spock had finished, Picard smiled a parsec wide.

"You know, I had heard of that mission. It always sounded so very awkward. But as a cover-up story, it makes perfect sense. But Ambassador? Won't Captain Kirk's family be upset that you gave away such a secret? And can you provide any kind of verification? To my mind, there's simply no way 430 people could all keep that kind of secret."

Spock was soon up and out of the room, well away from the seated Frenchman. "You asked me for a James Kirk story, Captain. You never asked me whether or not it would be a real one."


	9. Dear Jim

Title: Dear Jim

Author: Rob Morris

Series: AOS

Type: Short speculative piece

Characters: Spock Prime

Rating: PG

Summary: Spock writes to a home and a friend he will never see again about a history he has never seen before.

Dear Jim:

Though you are gone, a universe and a lifetime away, I remain to you what I have always been.

My adjustment to the new world goes well. 'Elder Selek' has been called an amazing treasure. I took so much from them merely by coming here, he will have to be several treasures, I fear. But again, I have found ways to adjust.

I have adjusted to your counterpart, cadet to King in moments. I have adjusted to my touchy counterpart, and to an Uhura who seems to be able to communicate with him, on his deepest levels. I have adjusted to a Leonard McCoy and to a Montgomery Scott all too comfortably familiar. I have adjusted, with a chuckle, to a Chekov who truly is 'even younger'.

I have adjusted to the apparent absence of Gary Mitchell. My best good fortune began with his downfall, and now...were his parents with yours aboard the Kelvin? Perhaps my search has not been thorough enough. Thelin seems to be well. I spied him in Engineering, shaking his head at Mister Scott's theories. I have obtained only contradictory information as to whether or not there is a Sam Kirk. There should be, and yet the butterfly's wings blow wildly in a tiny space. I do not yet have the courage to question your counterpart on this. If he does not have an older brother here, the knowledge might even be cruel.

Making me wonder further on this are the history archives. Here, there are no mentions of odd, unidentified strangers aiding Zephram Cochrane on that historic day. Here, Jonathan Archer's only mention of time travel–even when my hands found their way into files not meant to be seen- was in an encounter that was not his, but ours, as his ship encountered a dead scientific outpost on a planet about to crack apart, and the inhibition-shredding virus that shook the crew to its core. 'What Have I Done?' is a question that I think I will ask very often here, Jim.

Then there is Mother. The Nero of Rome killed his mother, the scheming power that brought him to his throne. The Nero of Romulus killed the loving power that enabled me to walk beside a King. She should have died an old woman, stubbornly refusing to leave the harsh climate and gravity of her husband's world. Nero. If only your revenge-addled mind could have comprehended that you could have spared six billion Vulcans and still punished me by killing just one Human. Then, at least, her loss could have more meaning to me, and to her son.

I have taken heart in some few things. Romulus, anxious to prove that Nero was a madman without sanction, has opened up relations a full decade earlier. I will do everything in my power to bring them and Q'onos into peaceful co-existence with the Federation. I should at least be able to provide cultural perspective that might demystify these would-be foes, or at least one would hope. Hope arrives in other forms. It seems Cardassian traders aided–for a steep fee–the escape pods from the USS Kelvin, and have opened trade relations not unlike those of the Ferengi in our 24th Century. One would hope this proceeds with no invasion of Bajor–and a lot less slapstick.

I need no adjustment to the sight of my first captain, hale and hearty as he left that wheelchair behind him forever, without aid of illusion or, eventually, back braces. But alternate fate laughs as loudly as our more–canonical–one does. He now complains of being trapped behind a desk.

As I leave to begin a new day of our colony search, I recall this exchange between father and son. I think that I shall always recall it.

"Father, I think that he shall always be a puzzle to me."

"Puzzle not upon him, Spock. If you are able, just let him become your friend. You had so few on Vulcan, and I only want your happiness."

A mellow Sarek.

That, old friend, is one thing that I think I will *never* adjust to.

Spock as always, Remembering You.


	10. Reflection Of A Man

Summary : Trying to make better relations with two crewmembers he clashed with, newly invested Captain James T. Kirk gets a visit from someone not impressed with him at all, and with good advice for the cadet turned king.

Reflection Of A Man

by Rob Morris

USS ENTERPRISE, 2258

Kirk signed the docu-padd, and handed it off to Uhura. He looked at her, and spoke under his breath.

"How is he holding up?"

"Planning to replace him?"

"If I have to. But I don't see it, right now, and I wasn't aiming anything at him. My own mother and I are not as close as I'd like, but I can't imagine losing her. Especially not the way Lady Amanda was taken."

Her look became arch, and sharp.

"Yet you saw fit to taunt him on it. To use his grief to unseat him."

He met her gaze, and did not flinch.

"Like Harry Truman for the A-Bomb. I regret only the necessity."

"You don't want to go there, Captain. I minored in Terran History, and that action has a lot of facets to be debated. Including racism."

Kirk nodded.

"Racism can be a dismissal of another person, or it can be the artificial raising up of the other in one's own mind. The devotion of the Japanese soldiers caused some American war-planners to start thinking of them as almost superhuman. It may have caused a mind-set that made use of a one-strike super-weapon inevitable, maybe even inflating the casualty estimates that helped drive the decision."

She looked slightly impressed.

"Okay. That is a more nuanced way of seeing things than I would have given you credit for. Though I still don't know if I buy it. Or are you driving towards something?"

Kirk shrugged.

"We Humans tend to see Vulcans that way. Frankly when - Elder Selek - advised me to do that taunting, I thought it was pointless. I believed there simply was no way of getting under a Vulcan's skin, or at least enough to cause that reaction. Bigger problem : Vulcans sometimes see Vulcans that way. So I ask again, how is he holding up?"

"He–he keeps bringing up private mourning time."

Kirk felt bad for the lovely lady.

"If I were enough of a jerk to offer love advice, I'd say let him have that, but no add-ons. Don't let him extend this any further than what he first cites as needed."

"That sounds like good advice. In fact, I took it before you said a single word."

"And....?"

She shook her head.

"I just can't seem to get...."

She paused, and Kirk began to wonder if he hadn't crossed the line yet again. Having only just made Captain, it was something he now wanted to reserve for those moments it was truly needed.

"Look, I'm sorry if this is just too personal. But I don't need the three of us being at odds, and...what's with you?"

Kirk waved his hand, straight in front of her face. He decided against anything more intrusive, though memories of their two brief, awkward encounters had him sorely tempted.

"Okay, dismissed, Lieutenant."

She didn't move.

"I do have that authority, last I checked. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

He began to get annoyed. He didn't care for being ignored.

"Dismissed....Ensign. Dismissed, Crewman. Cadet? Plebe? Applicant?"

Maybe she was just that dazed, he thought. She was a woman in love with a man who, by Kirk's estimation, was bound to make it difficult. So he gave in to intrusive behavior, albeit keeping it down to his forefinger tapping her forehead. Still, there was no response.

"At least slap me, or threaten charges!"

A new voice was heard, though it didn't sound new to Kirk at all.

"You are self-absorbed, aren't you? I thought Peter was bad, and he lost both parents when he was old enough to actually remember them. But you take the cake, kid!"

Kirk finally did look at someone other than Uhura, and saw that she was not alone in her endless pause. Chekov was not motor-mouthing about this strange phenomenon, and Sulu wasn't moving to cut him off. No one was moving, save Kirk and the new visitor. Kirk looked over the red-clad intruder, who sat on the helm controls like he owned the place.

"Are you one of the Q?"

The visitor rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't want to contaminate the timeline any further, but he told you about the Q?"

For some reason, Kirk was really disliking this fellow.

"Elder Selek felt that they might gain an interest in us, given the alter–all right, who the hell are you?"

The visitor smiled.

"Elder Selek. Heh. He uses a name from one timeline alteration to set up shop in another. Brother, I love you."

"You don't look like his brother."

The visitor shrugged, looking every bit as smug as Kirk himself had ever been accused of being. In fact, it looked a lot like this guy had practiced smug, and gotten it down perfect.

"Then, who do I look like?"

The intruder had the appearance of an older Human male, some weight that once wasn't there now a part of him, hair that reminded Kirk of someone, somewhere, and in a uniform that he now saw had some version of the Starfleet insignia.

"Granpa Sam?"

"Granpa? GRANPA?! Oh, C'mon! Spock at least got asked if he were Sarek, but I get Granpa?"

Kirk finally put two and two together, though finding all four digits in this mess was something of a challenge.

"Are all of you coming over? Because if you are, we need to order more red potato salad."

Captain, formerly Admiral, James T. Kirk got up and walked around.

"So this is The Enterprise. I like what you've done with the place. A little bright for my tastes, though. Kind of like a High School Science Teacher was transporter-merged with an architect. As to your question, well, maybe Scotty might show up, but then again, they put him in charge of rebuilding the Federation after—well, after a lot of stuff. Spock–you are a blabbermouth. There, I finally said it."

New Captain James T. Kirk got up from his chair.

"Wait. Scotty's alive in the late 24th Century?"

The visiting Kirk once again showed his mastery of snarky smugness.

"Tis' the Scotch, laddie! Ye just have to brew it to the proper strength. Yeah, I know, that was horrible."

*Please don't let me turn out like that*, thought the new Captain.

"Why are you here?"

"Just passing through."

"I asked you a question!"

"And I answered it."

As the new Captain stalked around the deck, the older one rolled his eyes.

"And here I thought Punch-Em-Out Spock was the touchy one. Next you'll be telling me..."

Both Kirks spoke in unison, one in spontaneous frustration, the other in infuriating anticipation.

"Release my ship and my crew, Mister, or I'll see to it that you regret...cut that out! I mean it!"

The younger Kirk finally started to laugh.

"Am I that easy?"

"Frankly? Yes. But then again, I do have some small experience being us. By the time I sign off, I've been on the Bridge of this ship for just under three decades. And what a long strange trip it was."

The younger Kirk caught part of his words.

"Sign off? As in shuffle off this coil?"

"You mean, did I finally dance with the Reaper by the pale moonlight? Sort of. Turns out, death, like life, is really, really, really, really..."

"Ok, I get it. Umm..just how many reallys in that really?"

"Really? By the time I got done, they'd be decommissioning the Enterprise-F. And that gets to why I'm here. I am just passing through, but I stopped here deliberately, to give you some advice."

"On how to be a Captain?"

"I'm not that presumptive, though I will say watch out for suspicious distress calls, especially one involving a beam-down. She–that one never left me. No, I'm here about that very pretty lady standing next to you."

"Uhura?"

The older Kirk nodded.

"Give her a break. She's in a relationship with a man who's apt to push her away, and not even realize he's done it. Try to be more supportive. She'll be that valuable to you, as an officer, and as a friend."

"Hey. I was trying to help when you showed up."

"No, you were trying to get into her pants—is she wearing pants?"

"What should she be wearing, a hadaka apron?"

The older Kirk tried to recall the term, one both Sulus had taught to their Captains–well outside of mixed company. When he did, he felt a stirring.

"Damn. Now *there's* an image to carry with you. Anyway, whatever your intent with her, it will be better served by backing off, helping the two of them where you can, and only moving in if and when Spock's innate stubbornness can't be overcome. You have your own Spock, so maybe he's less so, or maybe more. But don't even give with so much as 'I'll be there for you', until you are damned certain she needs someone there."

"That's it? You came all this way to give me advice on my and their love life?"

"We're talking about two of my dearest friends. You're damn straight I came all this way for that. Ships come and go, kid. Friends, like them, like Gary, are the real assets."

The younger Kirk asked a question.

"Gary? Gary Mitchell?"

"So you do know him."

"Yeah. My first year roommate at the Academy. Fell for this little blond lab tech. Quit Starfleet to be with her. I think they have a kid already."

The older Kirk chuckled.

"Buy the kid clothes. You don't want to know want to know what he'll do with a Tinkertoy set."

"Gotcha. Okay. That's why you're here. So...how?"

The older Kirk seemed to struggle with his words.

"In the multiverse at large, almost all versions of James Kirk that resemble me, or I them, at some point enter a place where time really flies wild. Eventually, we leave it. Whatever our fates after that, in each case, we leave a reflection of us behind. This is usually in the very late part of this century."

"But you also know things that only someone who lived in your Spock's time would have had access to."

"Another captain–a great man–ends up there, too, in that other place. Part of his memories stay with us, in addition to those of the handful of versions of us that lived after leaving that place. One found his new time overwhelming, and just asked to be let off somewhere, the way Zeph, err–like Robinson Crusoe. One gads about, helping out where he can. One version sees the other captain die, and takes his on command and crew in tribute and gratitude. There aren't that many, even by eternity's standards, but they are a part of me too."

The new Captain Kirk nodded.

"So you are those reflections, passing through to, well, where exactly?"

"That one gets really complicated. Suffice it to say, the omniverse has a clearing-house for bad probabilities and grim intentions, what we might call Evil. Wherever wrongs are left unresolved, and vengeance unsated, those pathways lead to a kind of funnel universe. On the bright side, people aligned with what we'd call Good are, if you will, tapped on the shoulder and asked to serve to finish off that Evil once and for all. Its not a nice place, but the trick of it is, you'd assume upon seeing it that it was the same as most other worlds. A threat that is no threat at all in other places rises to be a power of satanic and eschatological proportions. I was able to come here because you are vastly unlikely to enter that same temporal anomaly. I think Nero's interference may have altered its course away from known space."

The younger Kirk clearly grasped the concepts his older counterpart was speaking of. Then again, the older one mused, how could he not?

"So its some kind of Armageddon universe, and you're to be the Captain Kirk there."

"Me? No. I am the accumulated reflections of James Kirk at a certain point in his career. I'm to be a great-uncle to the man there. My nature will mean that I may retain certain memories of who I was, and use them to help Jim–and his kids. They'll need it. If you thought your stepfather was bad....there are parents there that make him look like Jonathan Kent."

The older Kirk began to fade, and now the younger wished they had more time to talk.

"Thanks for stopping by, Jim. Good luck with the Anti-Whatever."

"Just keep my advice about the lady. Find something, anything, you have in common, and build on it. Lover or friend, it will make all the difference. And no desk jobs. Leave that to Chris. Tell Spock : Always. Just always. He'll understand. And I...I feel...oh my..."

The older Kirk vanished, and in his place was a portal, not passable, but visible. The younger Kirk could not fight the urge to peer through it.

"...through to him sometimes, I....Captain?"

Kirk was back, sitting in his chair. He was also shaking, and very pale.

"Uhura...over there. We have to talk."

At a remove which offered some hope of privacy, he related most of his bizarre encounter to her. She shook her head.

"You want me to contact Elder Selek?"

"Yeah. Definitely. I almost wonder why he didn't go to him, instead of me."

"Maybe..you needed it more. Spock said that he was told that your counterpart didn't ascend quite so quickly. That's not a shot, but maybe it gave him some perspective."

Uhura still saw Kirk was upset.

"You said you gazed into the portal. What exactly did you see?"

Kirk waved his hand around, trying to spit out what wanted to stay in his gut, and the back recesses of his brain.

"Imagine if WB Yeats, HP Lovecraft, Stephen King, Ray Bradbury and Traus of Andor all sat down and got high for about a week. Then imagine they mind-melded. Then imagine what they'd jointly see as they suffered withdrawal, while watching a documentary on the Book Of Revelation. What I saw had three snaking heads, a bifurcated tail, and looked like it was constructed in Hell itself."

He could see that she too, had a vivid imagination.

"Well, I wish him and us well in that other place."

He still looked shaken. Whatever her conflicts with the man, she clearly didn't like seeing this, and so kept on, while adding a gentle quip.

"Maybe you'll even have a better pick-up line, when we first meet there."

He clearly appreciated the effort.

"He also said that you should be patient with Spock. The one he knew tended to push people away unconsciously. At least as a younger man."

A look of pleased surprise came over Uhura's face. Perhaps, Kirk thought, she had taken Spock's distance as deliberate, and liked this ray of hope.

"Well, I hope I don't see my counterpart. I have a definite thing about aging. Also, if everyone from that timeline is coming over, we'll have to order more red potato salad."

Kirk shook off his funk.

"Red Potato Salad?"

"Yeah. My favorite, but not his. Vulcans almost all prefer the mayonnaise kind, made with egg substitutes, of course."

Kirk nodded.

"I have a temp-sealed stash from Ernie's Deli on Lombard Street. Both types. Consider yourselves - both of you - invited to my cabin. And just to be sure, the invite only applies to both of you at the same time."

"It's a deal–provided I can get him. Meat substitutes only, though."

"No problem. Ernie happens to be a Vulcan."

They both laughed at that, and Kirk saw that perhaps some of the damage done had been repaired. She sat down to make contact with the other Spock, while the new Captain of the Enterprise found that, for some reason, he was measuring the size of his gut.

"Maybe not too much potato salad...."


	11. The Good, The Baka & The Crossover

Title: The Good, The Baka, And The Crossover

Author: 'Goji' Rob Morris

Series: AOS, with a cameo from a current SF/F show

Type: Light humor, Xover

Characters: AOS-K, Spock-Prime, Guest

Rating: G

The timeline gets a bit more contaminated, courtesy of....

The Good, The Baka, And The Crossover

By Rob Morris

Newly appointed Captain James T. Kirk was not shy about giving credit where credit was due.

"You did a fantastic job, manning multiple stations during Nero's final attack. To hear Uhura tell it, you were everywhere at once, practically."

"It is–a pleasure and an honor to serve with you, Captain Kirk."

When Kirk had left, the subject of his praise checked the burn on his arm. He couldn't show it to McCoy–too much chance of the scan revealing what he was.

*I had to pop in to a version of events where *both* of them were exploding at the same time? I mean, c'mon–been there, done that!*

Now, the older Vulcan–the strange one, who almost seemed openly emotive, came upon the man with so many secrets.

"Sir? Do I know you from somewhere? Your face seems somehow familiar."

The young man thought very, very quickly.

*At least he's less creepy than that violent Mister Spock. He scares me.*

"I can't really say, Elder Selek. Perhaps you knew my father...?"

Hiro Nakamura wondered just how deep in he was, this time.


	12. That Spock Fella

**That Spock Fella**  
by Rob Morris

1986, San Francisco

Now, there's folks as say that everybody in the city of San Fran-cis-co is gay. But when I asked around how people was feelin', they all seemed cranky. I guess it's the property prices. That can make a body cranky.

I took my little boy to see their aquarium, and all the big fish. I tried to sell the people as owned it some shrimp for the fish, but they told me they had that all taken care of, which was good, so the fish don't get hungry and eat each other.

"Daddy--look at the man swimming with the whales!"

Sure enough, there was a man swimming in the tank, but he wasn't hardly supposed to be there. Now, I'm not smart like my boy--but I think that he was talkin' to them fish. Why else would he have to get so close? Lessen he was nearsighted, but he didn't look that.

I rushed up to meet him as he got out--I'm really fast, when I wanna be---and helped him up.

"Mister--was you askin the fish questions?"

He nodded, and he was really polite about the whole thing.

"Indeed. I asked whether they wished to be relocated to the 23rd Century, where they may replenish the species."

Now, that seemed like an awful lot to ask of just two fish. Heck, you want a good stock, you gotta bring in twenty--maybe even forty. But this fella seemed to know his things pretty well.

"What did they say they wanted to do?"

"They were curious to see if my words were sincere. Also, the female--Gracie--is with child."

"That's really nice. I got me a little boy of my own."

The man looked kinda sad.

"Without the open sea or other whales to guide her, she may not be able to deliver the child. This is troublesome. Also, they still do not trust me."

"Could I talk to em', for ya?"

"Thank you, sir. But unless you are telepathic in nature, or can precisely imitate their language enough to speak or sing it, I'm afraid that you cannot help me."

I nodded, and then cleared my throat while I listened to the fish. When I made noises that sounded like theirs, danged if those fish didn't come up and look at me. When they kept on, I learned what they was saying. It's really simple to do. I looked at the man again.

"They'll go. I told em' you're a nice, polite man who wants to help em' out. They're still a little funny about replenishin the stock all by themselves. You better get more of em', you're gonna try that."

The man looked as surprised as the Lord himself must have been, on the Third Day.

"I am called--Spock Of Vulcan."

"I am called---Forrest Gump. That's cause my name is Forrest Gump."

"Forrest--you have my thanks."

"Then you have my welcome, Mister Spock."

I hope Little Forrest grows up to be as nice and polite and smart as that Mister Spock. Well, the lady runs the place took ta yellin at him, and his friend tried ta help him out of that, so we just left.

I'm supposed to meet with one of Jenny's friends. Wants me to invest in somethin' called transparent alumi-num. That'll be neat, to see through the foil when you're cookin' things. He wants to use it in space, but I heard you can't cook nothing in space, cause' things won't burn.

That's all I got to say about San Fran-cis-co.


End file.
